Oasis InnTucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.

The dry, abrasive heat of the day has driven most of Igen indoors, seeking relief from the merciless sun — all, except one lanky man who is surprisingly without leathers. Perhaps he's begun to lose the odd attachment to his gray leathers — for he is wearing thin linen, still in his usual dreary gray, his collar open, a chilled glass of wine before him as he slumps, relaxed, in a small, out of the way corner. For once, A'lory has nothing of note before him to read, nothing to untangle; the very idea is somehow unusual enough that the few brave souls inhabiting the Oasis Inn are giving him space.

Even the always formal W'rin has had to ditch his leathers in the heat, and he can add that to the list of reasons he's wishing he was back on that vacation he was taking in Keroon. As he pushes his way in through the door with a hip, his flicks a couple of fingers up at the bartender. A grin, a congrats here or there, and some handshakes as he makes his way up to the counter. Elbows hit the wood first, and the man's hands lower just as the the man behind the counter sets the tumbler in them. It is a well rehearsed dance. With a jut of his chin at the man, he turns leaning back against the bar. It is A'lory he finally spots. The glass lifted with a shrug, and a helpless 'what are you going to do' look of defeat.

A'lory smirks, eyeing W'rin; there's no accounting for draconic tastes — how much worse would it have been to have to have draconic-induced sex with a woman who is a sister to him? A'lory doesn't have to know about that. He lifts his own glass, stretching before straightening enough to nudge a chair with his toes, inviting W'rin to share the table. Perhaps his crankiness is over? One never knows how long such a thing will last.

"She'll survive. She's seen them before." Although, there's a distinction in one's mate being a part of it. His drink is lifted, resettled without a sip being taken; carefully is W'rin studied before A'lory remembers he's supposed to be drinking. And so he does, taking a moment to savor the cool crispness of grapes on his tongue. "She's probably wondering if I've lost my wits, but that can be remedied at some point." Possibly A'lory is avoiding the task of reassuring his mate. He's good at avoidance.

W'rin nods, "True, but the tend to affect us a little stronger." The man points to his noggin' in a gesture which indicates their respective lifemate's affects on their actions at times. "Yes, well. When Sienna gets a look of my nose." And the purpling bruises about the eyes, "She'll likely think the same." There is no accounting for the taste of human women either. One arm crosses over his chest as he leans back in the chair, a sip of whiskey tasted, "Are you going to the masquerade tomorrow? At Keroon. Sadiaya and I would like to show - solidarity, among the weyr's leadership."

"I'm not much for that kind of thing," A'lory shrugs off the masquerade, wrinkling his nose at the thought of having to get gussied up for as inane a reason as a party. And then he raises his eyebrows at W'rin, suddenly curious. "Am I? Still part of the leadership?"

The shrugging off of the party draws a lift of W'rin's brow but he doesn't push, instead he focuses on the question at hand. "That's really up to you." The tone indicates he only means that in a sense. "Look, A'lory. We worked well together. I don't know what happened. But when there was respect between us shit was going good." The cup is clasped between his legs, elbows burrowing into his thighs as he lets his head hang for a moment, before looking up at the man. "I need that. Either you, or someone else. For the weyr. Someone who is willing to offer advice without thinking I'm shit. Who can disagree with me without writing me off completely." A finger unwinds from the glass to point upward at A'lory's knot. "If you can be that again. If you want to be that again. Keep the knot. If not…well, I won't let your talent go to waste. There are other things you can do…"

"I don't think you're shit. I don't bother with those I think are shit. I do wish you'd stop thinking that." A'lory grumbles, twisting his tumbler round and round in his hands. "Annoyed as fuck with you, yes. Itching to take a board to the back of your head often? Yes. But I don't think you're shit." Ah, the blunt honesty between friends: it just somehow evokes violent imagery. Sup, bro? Love you. "It's… it's difficult, W'rin, to constantly have to smooth the ruffled feathers, to constantly explain… it's tiring. Half the time I wonder if you respect me, or if it's only gravy when I'm going along with your grand vision of what 'should be'."

"So stop. The world won't end." W'rin grumbles at the idea of A'lory glossing him over for people. "You aren't my diplomat, you're my second in command. I don't need you traipsing behind me tossing flowers. Faranth knows my gas'll just turn 'em brown anyway." The man jabs a finger at himself, "If I respect you?" The man huffs a bit of laughter, "A great line you don't bother with those you are think are shit, but you'd think I would. If I didn't respect you you would have lost that knot months ago, fuck, you'd have never had it." With a heaving sigh he lifts the glass and throws some back. "Look. I've told you what I need. Either you want to help this way, or you don't. The time for thinking is over. Make your choice. I have to get this shit show on the caravan and on the road, and I need someone whose got my back. Not that always agrees with me, but who respects me." He hand opens up, the massive palm upward for retrieval. "So, what's it going to be. You keeping it or giving it back? Like I said. But know, I'm not going to let you slink away, the weyr needs you, I'll find your place in it - even if it isn't weyrsecond."

A'lory snorts softly, letting the glass settle on the table. "See, this is what I mean. You're not listening. It's your way, or no way. What you need is not all, man. Do you even know what I need to be willing to remain your second?" A'lory raises his eyebrows, thoughtful. "That's something you really need to answer for me before I can make a decision. I don't bloody need you to find my place in this Weyr, or any other. That choice, I make myself."

"You're not talking any sense, A'lory." W'rin sighs and shakes his head. "I'm giving you the job description asking you if you want it. The weyrsecond position is assisting the weyrleader. That's what they do. It's their job, their contribution to the weyr. To other people, besides themselves. I've been trying to see it from your point of a view for a while now, but what you don't see is that its you who wants it your way or no way. And I was listening, A'lory. But I'm done now." The open hand lifts up as he downs the rest of the whiskey and plunks the tumbler on the table. "Give me the knot, A'lory. It's what you want anyway, and I don't have a whole lot of time to find another one." It is a resigned sigh, not a decision he is happy to be making.

A'lory rolls his eyes skyward, sighing with irritated resignation. "When the fuck did I say I didn't want the knot, you idiot?" He stares a long moment at W'rin, then shakes his head. "Fuck, man, you fail to listen to a word I say, and then wonder why I am beginning to have doubts about you? Faranth, I wish you well in finding someone else, if that's how you view things." The knot is flicked off the lanky man's shoulder, left to rest on the table. "How little you know me. I'm not surprised, though. That takes listening. And thinking."

Whiskey is what he came for, and whiskey has been had. So the weyrleader wraps his hand around the weyrsecond knot discarded on the table, with a long slow shake of his head, hoists himself out of his chair and stalks back outside to his dragon.

A'lory snorts softly, and picks up his tumbler again. There are days, and there are days. Tossing back his drink, he, too, rises and heads for his dragon — free, perhaps, of a duty that had gotten in the way of life.